Lovesick
by AshenMoon42
Summary: He found himself falling, falling, falling. Down into the well of loneliness and despair. He didn't want to drag her down with him. / Remus has to get away from Tonks, beyond temptation. When he leaves on a dangerous mission, he leaves her alone to weep.


**LOVESICK**

 **For the September challenge (Honeydukes) on the Reviews Corner forum.**

 **Prompt: (speech) "Just go. Leave and go to what's best for you." / "I don't want to leave you."**

The door slammed shut behind him. She stared at the place where he had stood. She wished for the door to open again, for him to come back. She begged to whoever was up there that he had thought again, that he had reconsidered. She sat down and wept.

Tonks wasn't usually a crier. She would yell and scream and throw things around the room, but she very rarely cried like she did then, great wracking sobs that shook her whole body, that overtook her mind, that made her eyes ache and her throat become sore. She very rarely broke down, and next to nothing could touch her mind in that way. Remus Lupin could. He made her want to rip her hair out, gouge her eyes out, punch someone or something. He made her angry and soft, sad and happy, irritated and interested. He made her nervous and loud, embarrassed and confident. When around him, she either wanted to kiss him or to kill him. Remus Lupin was all about opposites.

And now, thinking of him again, she shrieked. Was it in anger or sadness or pain? She couldn't tell, but she shrieked just to let it out, whatever that feeling was, she wanted to drain it out of herself in one go. Maybe a Quidditch match would do it, or a violent brawl, or perhaps a passionate kiss. _Kiss Remus._ She could blast some Death Eaters into little pieces. _Blast Remus into little pieces._ She could … she could forget all of it and go on with her day. Yes, she decided. She'd do that.

But every time she sat down to look at a report on Fenrir Greyback, she'd think of another werewolf. When she reached into the cupboard and found a tin of chocolate truffles, she closed it again with a hiss. When she lay in bed, she couldn't help but picture him beside her.

And now he was gone. Now he'd left her.

* * *

Remus walked down the street, his pace increasing with every step despite his limp. His breathing was irregular, his heartbeat frantic. He had to get away. Get away, where he would be beyond temptation.

He thought of her, laughing with him and Sirius. He thought of her, changing her features to look like an eerily realistic Snape. He thought of her, staring at him as he walked out. Crying as he spoke. Screaming when she thought he was out of earshot. He thought of her as she leaned forwards, capturing his lips with hers…

But he couldn't think of that. He'd only make himself worse.

So he brooded, letting the recent events crash into him. In the space of one summer, he'd attended countless Order meetings. He'd spent countless hours mourning his best friend. He'd spent countless days locked in his room, entirely hopeless. He'd wasted countless pieces of paper trying to put away the hateful words that echoed around his head. There had been countless times when he'd seen Nymphadora Tonks.

Seen her, but never properly approached. Not since Sirius.

He found himself falling, falling, falling. Down into the well of loneliness and despair. He didn't want to drag her down with him.

His whole life had been pain. Pain when he'd been bitten. Pain at every full moon. Pain when people pushed him away. Pain when he'd been betrayed. Pain when he'd lost every one of his friends in the space of a day. Pain when Sirius had escaped. Pain when Peter's loyalty was revealed. Pain, pain, pain. A whole lot of pain that was _his_ pain. He didn't want to burden her with it.

And now pain that he'd left the only person he loved anymore.

He was too old. Remus' joints ached and his hair was turning grey and the scars across his body painted a sad tale of his experiences. She deserved someone whole, someone young and energetic.

He was too poor. Nobody in their right mind would hire a werewolf, so his bank account was empty, his pockets holding barely a sickle. She deserved luxury - someone who could support her.

He was too dangerous. His nightmares were plagued by images of her death, each one more gruesome than the next, each one orchestrated by a grey-haired, thin werewolf with amber eyes.

 _Too old, too poor, too dangerous._ That was the chant he repeated in his head, and it was the only thing that stopped him from rushing back to her. _Too old, too poor, too dangerous._

* * *

Dumbledore called him aside. She watched as the two men muttered together, the old headmaster looking at Remus with pain in his eyes. The werewolf nodded grimly before turning around and catching her eye.

She knew it was bad. Whatever it was, she wouldn't like it. Not because of the gloomy set to his jaw, or the slight sag in his shoulders. Instead, she looked into his eyes.

They were duller than usual. They didn't hold the sweetness of honey or the happiness of a dancing flame. They were dark and serious and hard. But that told her nothing. It was the swirling depths beneath that solidity, the well of emotion that lay his behind his wise eyes.

All she could see in those peculiar amber orbs was guilt.

* * *

Remus packed slowly, attentive of the wounds he had recently received on the full moon. He almost wanted her to burst in, to tell him to stop, to ask what on earth he was doing. _Almost_. He had to do this. To keep away. So as not to tempt himself. To mind his own business. To be _useful_ for once.

He almost wanted her to walk in, and she did.

It hit him harder than he expected.

"Why, Remus? Why are you doing this to yourself? They'll kill you! They're wild creatures - you know that."

"I need to be useful, Nymphadora."

"So it's back to _Nymphadora_ , is it? Back to not knowing me at all. I thought we were friends … I thought we were more than friends."

Remus had his back turned to her. _Too old, too poor, too dangerous._ He could almost sense the tears running down her cheeks, her hair turning a mousy brown. He paused for a moment, and closed his eyes at the pain he was feeling. "Just go. Leave and go to what's best for you."

"I don't want to leave you."

And that hurt. That caused his heart to shudder, his head to spin, his eyes to spill tears. She would never have to leave. She would never leave him, and he knew that. He was the one leaving. He was the one who had to break away.

"Neither do I," he said. "But I must. I am not right for you. Find someone … fuller."

And he left.

* * *

She spent weeks on the sofa. The dirty teacups stacked high on the coffee table. Her hair stayed that mousy brown. Her eyes no longer glittered - they were dull and lifeless. The kitchen was no longer homely, without a tall man with thinning hair leaning against the counter. The library lacked its usual cosy atmosphere without the books sitting in piles by the worn armchair. The corridor became a place of nightmares with no friendly man to pick her up when she tripped on the troll's leg umbrella stand.

The whole of number twelve Grimmauld Place seemed gloomy and sad and empty.

Somehow Remus Lupin, who wore browns and greys and shabby robes, brought more colour to her life than she could ever imagine.

* * *

Remus wasn't coping. He was on another mission - just for a few months - undercover in a werewolf pack. He'd done this hundreds of times before, frequently in the first war, and a few times more recently, but now he couldn't concentrate. Every time he lied, he felt another wolf cease trusting him. Every time he partook in some wild activity, he felt his heart begin to falter at the thought if what he might do. Every time he thought about being back with the Order, he felt his control over himself loosen.

He didn't know how much longer he could go on eating raw meat and describing his fake life in the mountains of Wales. He didn't know how many times he could tell someone why he was reluctant to do certain things. He didn't know if he was capable of convincing even a single wolf that they should avoid Voldemort. He didn't know a thing, and it was killing him.

What was making his mind weaken in such a way?

There was an easy answer to that. Nymphadora Tonks.

* * *

She had to go back to work at some point. There was only so long she could be 'sick, but nothing serious', so she returned after three weeks. The Auror office was hectic, new initiates called in to join dangerous missions and more injuries by the day.

She'd been back for a month, and was tired. Tired in a fall-asleep-while-doing-an-assignment way. So now she was snoozing on a presentation about vampire attacks, the ink smudged onto her slumbering face and the paper crumpled beneath her.

"Tonks? Auror Tonks?"

"What? I, uh, sorry."

She looked up at Kingsley. "Why don't I walk you to the floo? You could do with some rest." He looked at her meaningfully.

She paused, seeing the meaning in his coffee brown eyes. "Yeah, sure."

He spoke in low tones as they walked. "There's a mission, just for a few _select_ people, to a werewolf pack in North Wales. We were hoping you could come."

"Why me?"

"You may know of a werewolf who is currently with the pack. He likes tea with too much milk and has a particular fondness to chocolate. We think he may not get along with other pack members."

 _He was in danger._

She tried to sound nonchalant. "Oh! Oh, yes of course." Failed.

"I'll pick you up at eight pm tomorrow."

Then Kingsley was gone, leaving Tonks to be swept away by a jet of green flame.

All she could think about was a certain werewolf who liked his tea with too much milk and had a particular fondness of chocolate.

* * *

"The Wild One is coming tonight."

"Who?" Remus asked.

"The Wild One. The one who Turned most of us. Turned you too, didn't he?"

"I … yes. The Wild One."

 _Fenrir Greyback._ He would know. He would give it all away. Remus would be dead by moonset.

The day was full of whispering. The other werewolves whispered around him, their voices like the buzzing of a hundred bees, like the hiss of a hiding snake, like the running of a stream. They whispered about the Wild One - about Fenrir Greyback.

A beast. A true monster. One who preyed on innocent children and took them into his pack. One who tore into human flesh with pleasure - even if he wasn't in wolf form. One who knew Remus, and who knew his part in the war.

When the sun was at its highest in the sky, Greyback arrived. They greeted him in a huddle, and Remus hung at the back, his head lowered and his mind full of painful memories.

He barely remembered the night he'd first came. The glow of moonlight. An open window. A cold breeze. A sound. A terrible sound. A dark shape. Pain. Pain. Pain. Screaming, howling. Pain.

The second time, he'd been fourteen. " _You're on the wrong side, Remus Lupin."_ A deep growling voice. " _Get away from me!"_

And then the third, at seventeen. " _This is your last chance, Lupin. Live as a proud wolf, or die as a weak human." "I'll live, but not your life. I refuse to live like a wild beast, destroying not only my life but the lives of others. I'll live as a man, and die with honour."_

The most recent had been in mid October 1981. " _I will remember you, Remus Lupin. Mark my words, you will feel my bite once again."_

Now the man stood before him once more. His hair had gone grey, but was just as wild and stringy. His teeth seemed stained with blood, sharp points looking as feral as ever. His eyes held a wild energy. They were yellow and wolflike, still hours before the moon rose.

Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt himself start to sweat. Was it fear? Or was it anger?

This man had destroyed his life. Every scar he had given himself, every bout of tears, every hour of pain, every full moon. All on this man, this monster who had preyed on a child all those years ago.

And Remus didn't know if he could hold it in. His hands itched to wrap around his throat. His legs longed to carry his body forwards, to smash into Greyback. His jaw wanted to clamp over that terrible face. He wanted Fenrir Greyback dead, and he wanted it now.

So he controlled every fibre of his being, pushing himself into submission. Telling himself to stay away. To stay far away from the man that roused such emotions in him.

And as he huddled at the back of the group, those yellow eyes locked onto his.

"Remus Lupin."

Remus inclined his head, hoping against hope that it would all be alright. "Greyback."

"How is life on the other side?" Everyone was staring at him.

"Good, thank you. What about life in the Darkness?"

"It's suiting me well. I wasn't happy when I heard there was a little spy travelling through the packs."

The werewolves around Remus were pushing forwards, full of anger, nothing but hatred in their eyes.

"A spy?"

"Yes, Lupin. A spy."

And then they were on him, pushing him down into the soggy, marshy floor. There was a flurry of teeth and nails as they leapt forwards, their human forms as bloodthirsty as the wolf. Pain, pain, pain. A bite on his already wounded shoulder. A lightness in his head as claws raked across his face. Pain, pain, pain. The press of bodies around him. His shoulder, wrenched away, dislocated. Pain, pain, pain. He was aware of a new screaming. Not only the other wolves as they screeched _traitor, traitor._ Not the shrieks of the nighttime animals. This scream was human. This scream was his own as his body was mangled, limbs tugged in opposite directions, blood coating every inch of him.

The blood. He hated it. It was everywhere, painting a picture of pain and death and anger. His blood was stained brown by the mud on the ground, and the mud was stained red from the blood seeping from his body. Blood. He was swimming in it, choking on it, dying in it. Dying bathed in his own blood, a horrifying sculpture to adorn the Dark Lord's hallway.

Just as he was about to give up his struggle, he was blessed. "STOP." A low gravelly voice. One he hated so much, but at that moment he embraced it.

Fenrir Greyback prowled forwards. "We can't kill him yet, can we? Let him sit in pain and we'll let the pack deal with him tonight when the full moon rises."

* * *

The Order closed in. By 'select people', Shacklebolt had meant Order members, and here they were, creeping through a moonlit forest like a gang of bandits.

The shadows of the trees stretched out like spidery fingers, cutting through the murky grey of the night. There were howls echoing around them; howls of glee and triumph, and a few faint howls of pain, of sadness. Tonks really hoped Remus had kept far away from this lot tonight.

She followed the group forwards until they reached a clearing. About thirty werewolves were huddled together, converging around something.

"What is it?" She hissed.

Mad-Eye growled a response, "Another wolf."

"Is it Remus?"

"Can't be certain."

Through the tangle of limbs, she could see flashes of the writhing creature. It had greying sandy brown fur, matted with blood. She saw was the hideous scar on the back of its shoulder, in a crescent shape.

Just like Remus'.

"It's him." She muttered. "It's him."

Mad-Eye nodded once, twice, three times, so that everyone could see him.

They charged.

* * *

Remus woke. Alive. Well, that was good. But for how much longer?

His head was spinning, but through the haze, he could feel one of his legs, and both his arms. Just one leg? That couldn't be good. His shoulder felt light and numb. There were slight tingles of magic across whatever wound he had gained there. His chest felt damp from the blood that hadn't been cleared away, and his back ached. His leg. He had to see his leg.

Could he open his eyes? His eyelids felt like they were made of lead, but he managed to lift them slightly. Then he stopped. They seemed to be fused closed with dry blood, so he tried to reach up, wipe it away…

Pain. It came to him all at once. His shoulder felt like it was being impaled by a silver spear, by a hundred knives, by a painful curse. It was all-consuming, agonising pain that shook him to the core. He cried out, noting that his vocal chords were intact, but a pain in his jaw just made his scream more. His head felt like it would explode, his shoulder like it would be ripped off. He forgot his leg. Right now, he was dying, and he knew it.

Blood. Thick and hot and sticky, around his upper back and arm. It seeped from his shoulder, from that age-old wound that must've been re-opened.

He should try and find something to bandage it with.

Sitting up. He reached his free underneath him, pushing his body up…

A bed? Why was he on a bed?

He pushed himself up, swung his legs around…

No, he didn't. He couldn't move it. His leg. It was completely dead, lifeless.

Dead. He was going to die. He was going to die at the hand of Fenrir Greyback. How ironic. The man who had made his life unbearable would be the one to bring its end.

The door opened. "Remus?"

He opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry, too raw from screaming, too clogged with blood. Only a strangled rasp came out.

"Remus, are you awake?"

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "I-"

"Don't talk."

And then the person was leaning over him and his lips were covered with something soft and sweet. He tasted chocolate truffles and smiled onto the figure's lips. Dora.

They broke away, and his lips felt incomplete without hers on them. There was suddenly a chilly gap between Remus and Dora.

"You left me." She mumbled against his lips.

"But you led me back."

And then he kissed back, knowing that if he died, he'd want that to be his last taste of the living world: Nymphadora Tonks.

* * *

 **Cliché in the extreme. What can I say? I couldn't think of a way to end it, so I ended up with… that. Ah, well.**

 **Tell me what you thought of it!**


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